Come Crashing Back Down to Earth
Washington - North America The Evergreen State is bordered on the north by Canada, Oregon to the south, Idaho on the east, and the Pacific to the west. The northwest corner consists of the Olympic Peninsula, with its rainforests and the towering Olympic Mountains. However, the region east of the Cascades, the forested and sometimes volcanically active mountains running north to south through the state, is largely dry, including the arid Columbia Plateau in the south. Forming the border between Washington and Oregon is the Columbia River, one of the world's greatest sources of hydroelectric power. The state is home to a variety of industries, from lumbering to their famous apples to the manufacture of jet aircraft, missiles, and even spacecraft. Contents: Debs Estate Blurr has arrived. With a disdainful shrug, Blast Off transforms into a space shuttle. Space Shuttle 's day started reasonably well. It really did. He was soaring in his element: outer space. The Combaticon space shuttle is BUILT for space, after all... he is one of the few Cybertronians made for long distance travel from one end of the cosmos and back. And he prides himself on this fact. He revels in it. He may be up here, all alone, by himself... while others keep company far below, but at least he is one of the elite few. Let the planet-bound mechs concern themselves with their petty everyday squabbles... Blast Off may be alone, but he's BETTER than them anyway. He's a SPACE SHUTTLE... and an excellent one at that. But no matter how good the day may have started, it begins to go a bit awry as he finally has to leave space and reenter Earth's atmosphere. Heading back to Combaticon Base, the shuttle prepares for the most difficult part of his journey- reentry. It's dangerous for anyone.... and Blast Off in particular. Though he would never admit this... he often has trouble reentering Earth's atmosphere. Perhaps it's because Starscream stuck his core inside a World War II bomber plane that he then managed to reform into a space shuttle- because he WAS ONE before, and he couldn't bear not to be one now. But there are... strange issues from time to time. Unfortunately, this is one of those times. A tiny piece of space debris hits him- perhaps an old fragment of a satellite? Whatever it is, it causes a malfunction- Blast Off enters at a wrong angle, which heats up his surface to an unbearable temperature. His heat shields, which usually protect him- crack. And so the shuttle is nearly consumed by flames as he tries to reenter the planet below. The pain is intense... and he is desperate for relief. The ocean stretches far below him... and that's where he heads now, leaving a highly visable trail of black smoke trailing behind him as he falls in flames- into the Pacific Ocean, just off Washington's coast. Oh, Blast Off thinks he's one of the 'elite few', doesn't he? He thinks he's special, doesn't he? Well, he's not more special than Blurr. Blurr is THE FASTEST Cybertronian on land, and not only that, but he is considered the fastest just in general as well. At everything. Those who can fly in space may be fast in the air and fast out of air, but they aren't as fast as Blurr is at everything. He runs faster, drives faster, thinks faster, talkes faster, and just overall moves at an unfathomable speed in comparison to everyone else. No one is fast quite like Blurr is fast. And right now, he's taking the liberty of demonstrating that to the world. Zipping down Earth's expressways, he makes his way south toward where Metroplex is in California. As CO of Autobot Intelligence, he has places to be, and people to see. And likely intel to deliver. So...ZOOM ZOOM ZOOM he goes, that is until he spots a trail of black smoke coming from the upper atmosphere. Screeching to a halt, he transforms and strains his optics upward. Hmmm...now just who might that be? Space Shuttle dives down... deep down, the cold wet of the ocean finally extinguishing the flames that had consumed him. The shuttle's engines sputter and nearly die... they're made for space, not underwater- and certainly not when he's this badly damaged. And while the water is responsible for quenching the flames, that same water is also SALT water... and it has a sting to it. The Combaticon winces in more pain, engines sounding rather weak and sickly now, and transforms while he still has the strength to do so. The last of his emergency systems help keep him afloat... for the most part... as ocean currents help carry him to shore. The exhausted shuttleformer then crawls onto the beach. It's a Washington beach and thus is remote and cold, with foamy white, chaotic waves breaking upon the rocks. Blast Off pulls himself up to a (mostly) dry spot and collapses, resting now as the seagulls fly by. His inner maintenance and repair systems start scanning and tell him there is massive damage, and start to ever-so-slowly work on repairs. Right now, he doesn't even have a functional radio. He can only hope no one spotted him, and he can rest and recover as long as it takes for repair systems to get that radio operational again. Blast Off shifts into his battle-ready robot mode. Alas, but it is no longer Blast Off's lucky day. For not far away is Blurr, probably the last person he'd want to see right now. The courier had followed the trail of smoke toward the coast, and the Combaticon can now see him in the distance, though that distance isn't really that far when you think about how fast Blurr can move... Blast Off 's scanners also detect an incoming signal approaching...FAST. Like... REALLY, REALLY FAST. Oh slag, it *could not possibly be*..... and yet... *it is*. No, indeed, it is /not/ his lucky day. In fact, the Combaticon finds himself considering, not for the first time, the possibility that the universe that he so loves has a really twisted sense of humor where he and Blurr are concerned. And as much as he'd ever hate to admit it, Blurr is indeed a master of speed... and a badly injured shuttle is no match for him right now. Nonetheless, Blast Off is a Combaticon, and this is his arch-rival. It takes him a moment (that he probably doesn't even have), but he finally manages to get his ionic blaster out of subspace. It's a wonder that still works, really. The weapon is still in pristine shape, thanks to where it is kept... but Blast Off's arm is not. Scorched and even weaker than usual, it shakes as he attempts to hold the weapon up and pointed at the incoming Autobot. His usually very haughty-sounding voice sounds more tired than anything else as he says, "Stay... stay back... or I'll shoot." The shuttleformer tries to prop himself up slightly as he sits, leaning against the rocks. In a flash, Blurr has arrived on the beach, and he is surprised to see that it's Blast Off lying helpless on the shore. Oh ho ho...well, well. He smirks and folds his arms and peers down at the Combaticon. "Flying in space seems to have its own set of disadvantages, huh?" he commments. "Bad landing?" The courier disregards his commands and just proceeds to go ahead and sit down on a rock near Blast Off's head. Blast Off keeps a wary optic on Blurr as he approaches- and sits down close by... TOO close by. But there's not a lot he can do about that right now, unless he wants to follow through with his threat and shoot- and then probably be shot in return. There's a small huff, except it sounds less like a huff and more like a wheeze, and he peers up at Blurr. His gun remains pointed at Blurr... more or less. It's sort of waving and weaving around. Blurr's at an awkward angle now, being as close to the Combaticon's head as he is. He sits there in silence for a moment, then tries to adjust himself slightly so he can keep a better view of the speedster. "I... simply... it's this mudball. It's... all the litter the fl-fleshlings discard around their *zkt* own homeworld. Satellites and other... debris. It's... a hazard. They-they should know better. I'm sure... if you've flown ships, you... have experienced these hazards. But... everywhere has hazards. I simply... yes, had a bad landing. Hit by... something. ... Couldn't be helped." He continues trying to hold the gun up, then asks, "...What...what do you want?" "Hmm...what do I want?" Blurr chuckles and leans back against a rock. "You know, that's a very good question, Blast Off! You're lying here, helpless and completely at my mercy." He feigns a very pensive look. "Oh AND you're fairly high-ranking now, I've seen that, so yeah, there a few things I want. Like how about where Trypticon has decided to make his hab suite these cycles? Or what about that orbital construction site back at Cybertron? I'd like to know what it's for." Then his optics light up. "Oh! Or! Or how about where does Soundwave monitor all his little sonic reflectors from in Crystal City? I'd sure like to know all that. Or, you know--" And now his weapons are out. "--I could just shoot you, and you'd never leave this beach in one piece!" Blast Off stares as Blurr responds and he shifts uncomfortably, as if trying to back away before his systems remind him that that's just not happening right now. His gun remains up in the air, but even that's hard to maintain... though by the time Blurr points his weapons at him, the Combaticon's grip has tightened on his own. ...If only he could hold that steady. He's unhappy to hear that Blurr now knows he's high-ranking, though he supposes it's inevitable the Autobots would learn that eventually. Actually, he's unhappy about *all* of this. And if he gives Blurr information, not only does that wound his pride... Decepticon Higher-Ups would make sure that's not ALL that would be wounded after wards. He stares a moment more, then responds as vaguely as possible, "Why... why would *I* know these things, even if my rank may have... somewhat... improved? I spend much of my time in space... I haven't even BEEN in Trypticon recently.... Soundwave most *certainly* does not tell me (or anyone else) anything more than he must, and the orbital construction site?..." His voice trails off with another wheeze. "That is a simple communication device. If you *want* to waste your time worrying about such a small thing, then... go ahead." There's another sickly, whirring wheeze through his ventilation systems as he puts all his energy into *trying* to hold that blaster steady- and trying not to appear as nervous as he's feeling. "Psh, 'communication device'? Isn't that the story you told Sky Lynx?" Blurr shakes his head. "He didn't believe you, so why would I? Do you really think I'm that stupid? Heh. Maybe you do. So why don't you go ahead and start talking, before I make your poor little heat shields suffer even more than they are already? Come on..." he makes himself comfortable against the boulder. "Let's not make this any harder than necessary?" Blast Off stares up at Blurr with a mix of fear and anger, his sense of discomfort growing by the astrosecond. This is an *extremely* bad spot he's in, and he's not exactly sure what to do. The arm holding his weapon finally starts to weaken and drift downwards, until he brings up his other arm to brace it. Now both arms are holding the weapon up, but the aim is still extremely unsteady, weaving and wobbling around. "Oh... but I think you like it. How could you not? I would certainly be pleased if the tables were turned. Stupid? No... I don't actually think you are stupid. You are..." Arrogant? Brash? He has to be careful here, obviously. "...Impatient, would be one thing." "Ah-ah-ah...you're getting off topic!" Blurr thrusts the barrel of his weapon up against Blast Off's chassis. "Tell me about that construction project. Oh and you can't fool me into believing that you don't actually know where Trypticon is. You're right, I'm not stupid, but you aren't stupid either. That's Brawl's job." Blast Off stops any of the subtle fidgeting he may have been doing and becomes very quiet, optics growing pale-violet as he stares nearly optic-to-optic to his arch-rival. He doesn't even look at the gun pushed up against his chest, though his own weapon remains pointed upwards. His answer is quiet, as well, "No. Indeed I am not. I am not stupid enough to tell my enemy secrets that Decepticons wish to keep. If you shoot me, then I fall in the field of battle. Like a Combaticon must always accept might just happen. If I snitch, though... then I face far worse things than you." "Really." Blurr lowers his weapon slightly. "Is that the only reason you're afraid of telling me? Because you're afraid they'll throw you in the smelting pool, or torture you or something? But you never know with Galvatron...do you? He could decide to do that on a whim. Whether you 'snitched' or not. So what's the difference, anyway? You live in constant fear of your superiors, no matter what." Blast Off continues gazing up at the Autobot, then breaks away briefly to watch the waves rolling in on the shore. Actually, /Air Raid/ of all mechs once got far too close to pinpointing Blast Off's worst fear. But that would involve bringing up the Detention Center and the Loyalty Program, and Blast Off has no intention of doing so. As always. Pale optics gaze back up at Blurr, and the Combaticon sighs softly- a very weary sound. This is always a difficult subject, since the former Renegade Decepticon has to try and /sound/ loyal when he really doesn't feel it. "Galvatron......" Have to think of an excuse here now, "He upholds the Decepticon ideals, and will continue to do so until someone else comes along. As they always do. Perhaps then... I..." Optic ridges furrow as he tries to think... and being this badly injured isn't helping. "As long as the other Combaticons work for the Decepticons, so will I." He looks back up at Blurr, and there is conviction in what he says. "I am part of a team, Blurr. You may not be a combiner, and you may not understand, but... I am now... and... it changes things." "So you're just living for the rest of your team? What if they all died? Or disappeared? So would you leave the Decepticons? Strike out on your own?" Blurr continues to question him. "And do you mean to tell me that you don't have any of your own convictions? You just...do whatever your team does? Don't you think that's kind of weak?" he scoffs. "Maybe that's why you lack resolve! You don't have any kind of real commitment to what you're doing." Blast Off blinks up at Blurr, slightly flustered at his questions. "I..I.. don't know. If the other Combaticons died... " He glances out towards the ocean again. "...Perhaps. It... depends." Blast Off *would* actually like to leave and strike out for the furthest reaches of the galaxy again, preferably *with* his team, however. Maybe do mercenary work, or even space exploration. But he wouldn't want to be alone out there... again. "I was originally built to explore space..." The Combaticon huffs (again, more of a wheeze) at the rest of Blurr's comments. "Of COURSE I have resolve and commitment! I wouldn't be who I am today without them. ...I wouldn't be *alive* without them." He frowns under the faceplate and continues, "Of course I think for myself. It..." He almost says *it's what got me in trouble in the first place*, but catches it in time. "It is a trait that has served me well.... most of the time. But I must work as a team player, and that is... a balance that must be struck." "Psh, I didn't say you didn't think for yourself!" Blurr laughs, shaking his head. "You have commitment, yeah--to yourself. But that isn't what you're 'supposed' to be committed to ultimately, is it? I'm talking about real commitment to what your allegiance to the Decepticons is all about... you know, big picture stuff. "See, you were originally supposed be an explorer, not a sniper! All you want to do is go out and enjoy the vast cosmos to yourself, and not have to live in fear of punishment, or ridicule! Or have to take orders from anyone except yourself! That's what you have REAL commitment to. Not Galvatron." Blast Off feels some of his earlier near-fidgetiness returning, and he tries to adjust position to something more comfortable... but beach rocks aren't really comfortable anyway. Especially grating is Blurr's comments about not having "to take orders from anyone except yourself". A personal sore spot of the shuttle's. He HATES taking orders from anyone, really... though Onslaught is the most tolerable of the bunch. At least he CHOSE Onslaught's leadership... and *choice* is very important to him. It's... everything he *didn't* get during the Detention Center, after all. "I...I don't know. ...Perhaps." He hastily adds, just to be safe, "Perhaps not." Blast Off's gun has sunken down by this point, resting against one of the beach rocks- though his finger is still near the trigger. "If this war would ever end, then perhaps we can *all* go back to where we wish to be." "Well," Blurr says, standing back up. "So long as Galvatron is in charge, the war will never end. Even if he eradicates us, he'll find someone else to make war on, and if he can't find someone else, he'll turn on you. All of you. So if an end to the war is what you want, then your true commitent isn't actually to Galvatron or to the Decepticons. So if it isn't to yourself, and it isn't to them, then what is it?" He leaves that question hanging in the air as he walks over to a fence that separates the beach from the highway. "Anyway--since you won't give me the information I need, then I guess I'll have to make good on my promise of not letting you get out of here in one piece." Pulling a large fence post out of the ground, he brings it over and drives through Blast Off's body through his side, and beyond, pushing it deep into the sand under the rocks. Yeah...that's going to take some work to get him out of without tearing him up completely. "There, that should give you plenty of time to think about the commitment question! It's probably more important than you think..." And then as quickly as he'd appeared, he's off, his hovercar form zipping off across the beach. What, did the Combaticon really think that Blurr would just let him be so he can get back to his evil deeds without any further delays? Never! Blast Off doesn't actually have a lot of time to ponder Blurr's question. As he sees what the Autobot is about to do, he attempts to lift his arm up again and fire at him... but the arm just won't work anymore. Optics glow pale violet again, and the Combaticon tries to move back... but there's just no time. At least not time of the sort that would get him out of this predicament... Faced with his fate, Blast Off does the only thing he can do- as a Combaticon and a prideful shuttle. He braces himself and stares up with as /haughty/ and /prideful/ a look as he can muster as the Autobot drives the fence post through his torso. There's a soft cry of pain, but he doesn't really make much sound as he is crushed into near unconciousness into the sand. The only irony here? Blurr's destruction of his torso seems to trigger a radio response, finally... so the shuttle *will* eventually be found. ...Eventually. As the timeless tide comes and goes.